Remember When
by Snapegirlkmf
Summary: Bae and Alina want to give Rumple a special Father's Day gift . . .and decide to spend the afternoon listening to Rumple spin stories about their childhood antics and the meaning of fatherhood. Gold Standard AU!
1. All Tangled Up

**Remember When?**

**A Once Father's Day Fic**

**Gold Standard AU**

**1**

**All Tangled Up**

_Storybrooke, Maine_

_Gold's Victorian:_

"I couldn't think of a gift to get you for Father's Day, Papa," Bae said, carrying a large leather embossed album over to where his father, Rumplestiltskin Gold sat on the couch, with his eldest daughter, Alina, next to him, and his five month old twins, Daria and Dylan, cuddled on his knee.

"So Bae and I decided that we would do something . . .unconventional for Father's Day," Alina said, handing a soft butterfly rattle to Daria. "We decided to make it a . . .umm . . .memorable one."

Rumple looked alarmed. "Okay, what broke? And how much do I have to pay for it?"

Alina laughed. "Nothing . . .not this time."

Bae sat down on the couch with the album. "We decided that the best gift we could give you was our time . . .time spent remembering you as our dad." He opened the album, which contained pictures of the Gold family. He pointed to one of Gold holding the twins as newborns. "Of course, these little munchkins you don't have a lot of memories with yet, but . . ."

"I'm sure I'll have plenty once they start walking and talking and using their magic cohesively," the sorcerer said, jiggling them. "Right? And you'll turn my whole head gray, won't you?"

Dylan cooed at him, his green eyes shining. A rose on the trellis on the wall burst into bloom.

Daria went and whacked her papa in the face with the rattle, giggling.

"Hey! See, she's already giving me one," he teased.

"So we brought the album here so you could tell us some stories about your favorite moments when we were kids," Alina continued, and gently moved her sister's hand so she didn't clobber Rumple again.

"You still are a kid," her older brother teased.

She rolled her eyes at him. "You know what I mean, Baelfire."

Rumple smiled at them. "That's a very unique and lovely idea, you two." There was nothing he enjoyed more than spending time with his family, despite how insane and crazy they sometimes were.

"Because we have a unique and awesome father," Alina returned, leaning her head on his shoulder.

Gold cocked an eyebrow at her. "You trying to get me to raise your allowance, Alina Rose?"

"Papa!" she mock-glared at him. "If I was I'd make a better deal than that."

Bae roared with laughter. "She's a chip off the old block all right!"

Just then Belle came in with some tea and some peanut butter chocolate chips and set them down on the table in front of them. "Here, Rumple. I know you'll need something to . . .fortify yourself for this trip down memory lane."

"Gee thanks, Mama," her son snorted. "We weren't _that_ bad!"

"Uh, most of my gray hairs came from you, Bae!" Rumple refuted. He picked up his chipped cup and sipped some tea out of it, before flipping the album and pointing at a picture of Regina, his little niece, standing in the den with yarn wound all over it and her ankles. "Regina wasn't the only one who got all tangled up in my yarn, mister."

Bae groaned. "God, not this one again!"

"Tell! I can't wait to hear it!" Alina begged.

"I don't know how you didn't hear it," her brother moaned. "He even told Emma one night!"

"She asked. Besides, she needs to know these things, because soon you'll be having a wee one to raise from the beginning," Rumple pointed out. Emma was due very shortly with her and Bae's second baby. He shut his eyes and gathered his thoughts, sending them flying down familiar pathways to a time long long ago, in the Enchanted Forest, when he was mere wool spinner, and raising a harum-scarum little boy by himself.

Then he opened them and said, "Okay, now zip your lips and put your listening ears on, you four."

"Papa, I'm not three," Bae objected.

"Shut up, Bae!" Alina snapped. "Go on, Papa."

Rumple cleared his throat. Then the spinner of spells, tales, and gold began, "Once upon a time, back in our old realm in the Enchanted Forest, I lived with Bae in a simple little cottage, spinning wool to sell at the market . . ."

_Fairy Tale Land:_

It was gray day, and rain had soaked the ground last night, accompanied by loud thunder booming, which had woken four-year-old Bae from a sound sleep and sent him cringing in terror to crawl into bed with his papa. Now Rumple never minded having his son sleep with him, but last night had been particularly trying, since the rain made his injured leg stiff and sore and Bae had kicked it several times while he slept.

End result, his leg, which had been badly broken after a war horse stepped upon it during muster back when Rumple was drafted into the army in the First Ogre War, was now aching like seven hells. Not just because of Bae, but also because of the weather. Rumple hated when it rained, because the damp got into his mismended bones and set them all to throbbing. It made him feel like an old man of seventy rather than the twenty-four he actually was.

He sat on the edge of his straw stuffed bed, trying to massage some of the pain away before getting up to make breakfast and start his day's spinning, his linen night shirt about his knees, yawning.

Bae, in contrast, was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed that morning, and jumped out of bed like Jack Be Nimble. "Papa, let's have eggs n' nests for breakfast 'stead of porridge today!" he crowed.

Poor Rumple thought he'd rather have a shot of rum today, but didn't say so. "We'll see, Bae," he sighed. "Go and wash up first."

"Yippee!" the hyper little boy raced across the cottage floor to the little crate where Rumple had a bowl filled with water, a sliver of lemongrass soap, and a towel for washing. He quickly washed his hands and scrubbed the sleep from his eyes, getting water everywhere.

Then he jumped behind the rattan screen in the alcove beside the wash basin to use the chamber pot there.

After a few more minutes, Rumple sighed and got up, using his carved walking stick, and limped over to the hearth to coax a flame from the embers there. Then he moved to the battered old iron stove and stirred the coals in it to life. The stove was a new addition to the house, bought with the money Rumple had saved now that he no longer had his faithless wife, Milah, drinking it all away down at the tavern. Milah had run off with a pirate to see the world, abandoning her spinner husband and child. And good riddance to her, the spinner thought.

He put the kettle on for tea and began heating the old black skillet with some butter and he limped over and sliced some bread and took the eggs from a basket beside the cupboard. He carried them in one hand while he made his way carefully back towards the stove, leaning heavily on his stick and gritting his teeth at the shooting pains in his leg.

"Papa! Are the eggs done yet! Are they?" Bae ran right into his path and grabbed his leg.

Rumple almost tripped and fell, saving himself at the last instant by managing to grip his stick. "Baelfire! Watch out! You almost made me fall!"

"Oops! Sorry! But m'hungry!" the child said, giving him a gamin grin.

"Well, you aren't going to have breakfast if you make me break these eggs, little boy," Rumple said testily.

Bae pouted. "I said I was sorry. Don't be a grouch, Papa!"

Rumple frowned at his son. "A grouch? If you don't quit sassing me, lad, you're going to see how much of a grouch I can be. Now go and . . . and play over there while I cook," he ordered, waving the boy towards his spinning wheel and the box of toys by the hearth.

"Okay! I'm gonna play work!" Bae shrilled, and darted across the room.

Rumple heaved a sigh. He wished he possessed a tenth of his son's lightning bolt energy. But today he felt like a snail. One that was stuck in the mud, going nowhere.

As Rumple began to toast the bread in the skillet, Bae went over to his toy box and found a cunningly carved toy jumping jack on a stick, and played with it for a while . . . a while being all of ten seconds before he grew bored and looked around for something else to do.

The little boy was naturally curious and also a natural mimic, and when his eyes lit upon Rumple's wheel, standing forlorn and empty before the hearth, Bae recalled that he had always wanted to try to spin like his papa. But his father had always told him he had to wait till he was older, that he was too little now.

But Bae figured he was big enough now—he was four and a _half_—and so he ran over to the wheel and grabbed some handfuls of wool and tried to put them on it.

But they fell right off, because he wasn't tall enough to reach the wheel and spin it at the same time. Frustrated, the little boy decided to try and remove the half spun thread on the bobbin and pretend that way.

Rumple had just finished putting the eggs into the indentation in the bread and cooking them with some salt and pepper and sprinkling them with some goat cheese. He slid them onto some wooden plates and had placed them on the table, then turned to call Bae over to eat. "Baelfire, it's time to—_holy fu-err—flaming hells!"_

The sight that greeted his eyes was one out of a spinner's worst nightmare.

Bae had unwound all the thread he'd spun on the bobbin, which was a fairly large amount, and had tangled it all over the wheel, the floor, the rocker in front of the hearth and himself.

He had thread wound about his ankles, around the waist of his little nightshirt, and tangled in his hands and about his head. He looked up at his father with a mischievous smirk and cried, "Look, Papa! I'm workin! Like you!"

Rumple hit himself in the forehead. It was times like these that he wished he had a club to hit himself in the head with. He couldn't figure out how one small child could get into so much mischief . . . in the space of five minutes!

"Baelfire! Look what you've done! My thread! It's all tangled up!"

"Uh . . .it was hard spinnin' it," the little imp grinned. He held up a thread covered hand. "An' now I'm kinda stuck!"

Rumple limped over to his son, managing somehow to find a way not to trip over the thread wound all over. He grabbed some scissors from his sewing basket and said, "Now, you hold still, Mr. Sticky Fingers, while I get you free of this . . . disaster you've caused! Bae, when will you learn not to touch everything?"

The little boy's lower lip stuck out. "But . . . but Papa . . . I was 'tending I was _you_. Spinnin' thread to sell at the market . . ."

"Somebody shoot me," Rumple muttered under his breath. "And then tell me why I ever thought I could raise a kid on my own, crippled coward spinner that I am?" Then he looked at his tangled up little imp, who never failed to make his heart melt with his soulful brown eyes, even when he knew he ought to be angry at him, and all of his annoyance faded and he started to laugh. "Gods help you, Bae! And me too!"

"Am I in trouble?" his son asked, slightly worried that he was going to have to find the corner in the kitchen and stare at it forever . . . since four minutes was forever to the active toddler.

Rumple quit laughing then, and adopted a disappointed face. "You ought to be, lad. But . . . well . . .I guess I can see why you did this, so . . .no corner. However, you _will_ be helping me to pick up all this thread after breakfast. As soon as I cut you free," he amended.

Then he set to work with his scissors, snipping at certain points until the tangled thread fell away in a heap on the floor.

"Okay, now let's eat, before our eggs in a nest get cold," he told his son, and Bae took his hand and tugged him towards the table.

The eggs were a bit cold, but neither of them noticed, since both were hungry, and hunger makes almost anything taste good.

Afterwards, Rumple had Bae help him wash the dishes and put them to dry by the window in the sun, and then the two spent over an hour and a half untangling and cutting the thread wound everywhere in the main room of the cottage.

Rumple took the spoiled thread and tossed it in the fire, and tried not to think about a half-day's work going up in smoke. Then he wondered if he had done the right thing by not punishing the boy for his little misadventure.

_I'm such a pushover,_ he thought, rubbing his still sore leg.

Bae tugged on his shirt tail. "Papa? M'sleepy."

Rumple glanced down at the curly-haired moppet and ruffled his hair. "Untangling thread's hard work, huh?" he said.

"Uh huh," Bae said solemnly. Then he added, "An' I ain't never tryin' to spin till I'm bigger, Papa! Like six!"

Rumple chuckled and scooped the little boy up in his arms. "That's a good idea, Bae!" Then he pretended to nibble the boy's nose. "Mmm . . . you taste good!"

"Noo!" he squealed. "No Tickle Monster, Papa!"

"Ohh . . .but I have a plump juicy tender little morsel here," Rumple made his voice deep and growly. "And I'm hungry! Grrrr! And I'm gonna eat him all up!"

Then the spinner playfully nibbled all down the little boy's neck and tummy, making his captive child squeal with pretend fear and then burst into giggles.

"Mmm . . . you taste scrumptious!" the "monster" said, licking his lips.

"Do not! I taste yucky! Like . . .lima beans!" Bae howled.

Rumple tickled his leg, making chomping noises, and Bae's giggles filled the cottage, until anyone passing by would have wondered just what in hell went on in there.

"Are you going to behave?" queried the horrible Tickle Monster. "Or shall I bite off your other leg?"

"No! No! I'll be good!"

"Do we have a deal, dearie?"

"Deal!" Bae nodded and held out a hand.

Rumple took it. "Okay . . .and you know that—"

"—when you make a deal, you gotta keep your word!" Bae recited. Then he yawned. "Papa, I'm sleepy."

"You know what—so am I," the spinner remarked. "So why don't we both take a little nap?"

Rumple went and curled up on his bed with Bae snuggled in his arms and soon the two were fast asleep, while outside rain lashed the cottage, but neither the spinner or his son woke, for both were snug and warm in their homespun blanket and each other's arms.

_Gold's Victorian:_

" . . .and that's the story of Bae trying to be a spinner," Rumple concluded with a smirk.

"Aww! How cute!" Alina giggled.

Bae rolled his eyes. "I was a pain in the ass, Papa. I don't how you didn't strangle me. I cost us money."

"Because, Bae, money isn't everything. Family is," Rumple replied. "And you gave me plenty more chances to want to beat you like a rug, dearie."

"Yeah, that's what I thought," his sister said smugly.

"Oh, don't act like you were perfect, Miss Gold!" Bae challenged. "Because you got into your share of mischief too! Right, Papa?"

"Both of you conspired on a regular basis to turn my hair gray and give me an ulcer," Rumple admitted. "And never so much as the time you got lost in the supermarket, Alina Rose . . ."

"No! Not _this_ one again!" his daughter cried.

Bae smirked. "Oh, yes! Now it's _your_ turn!"

**A/N: this little multi-chapter fic was written for Father's Day to honor Bobby Carlyle and every father everywhere. Hope you enjoy Rumple's tales!**


	2. Hide n' Seek

**2**

**Hide n' Seek**

Belle returned to the den and sat down in her recliner nearby. "Would you mind if I listened?" she asked, petting Nala as the black cat jumped on her lap. "I've only heard some of these stories briefly and I would like to hear them told properly."

"By the master," Bae joked.

Rumple eyed his son. "Are you making fun of me?"

"Would I do that?" Bae asked innocently.

"Yes!" chorused Alina and Rumple.

"Unbelievable!" Bae threw up his hands. Then he smirked, looking very like a certain pawnbroker. "Okay . . . enough stalling, Papa. Let's hear the supermarket fiasco."

"Hey! I didn't call yours a fiasco!" Alina grimaced at her brother.

"Hush!" Belle ordered. "You're being rude!"

Both her children subsided.

"Thanks, dearie," Rumple said, and then handed a twin to each of his older children. "Now . . . this took place during the time of the Dark Curse, and I didn't have any of my memories back yet, so it was like I was learning how to be a father for the first time . . .and I was scared to death I'd mess up, because all I could recall was the drunken ass that my own father was, and he was not someone I wanted to use as an example . . .ever. Anyway, at the time the curse was cast, Alina was around twenty months old, but because Regina was unaware of her, she wasn't affected the same as the rest of us, she could age, but slowly, and around the time of this mishap she was two . . . "

_Storybrooke_

_The time of the Dark Curse:_

"Saylah, I'm going to the grocery store," Mr. Gold called to his housekeeper as he pulled on his coat, having recalled he needed some things from the store just as he arrived home from his shop that day.

His little two-year-old daughter raced up to him and grabbed him about the knees. "Papa! I come!" Alina pleaded, staring up at him with huge brown eyes the same shade as his own. "Pweease!"

Gold looked down at his child, who was the most precious thing in the world to him, especially since he'd lost her mother, Isabelle, when Alina was a newborn. "You want to come with me to the store?" he asked her, kneeling on his good knee.

"Uh huh. I come!" she repeated, giving him a winsome grin that made his breath catch slightly, for it reminded him so of his dead wife.

"Okay, little minx," he agreed. Then he held up a finger. "But remember, you're to stay by me all the time, Alina Rose," he admonished. "No wandering off to play hide and seek."

The little girl nodded. "Kay, Papa."

For though usually a good child, Alina's one reoccurring bad habit was her love of hiding. She liked to hide _everywhere_ . . .and did so on a regular basis all over his large Victorian . .. making his housekeeper Saylah and himself go insane looking for her. And no matter how many times she was scolded and sat in a corner for time out, or made to sit alone in the den, Gold couldn't seem to break her of it.

When he questioned her about it, all the little imp would say was, "I's playin', Papa. Hide n' seek."

Saylah thought it was a ploy to get her papa, who was a workaholic and worked even for half-a-day on Saturday, to spend more time with her. Alina was extremely attached to Mr. Gold, and occasionally threw fits when  
he had to leave for work, even though that was a daily occurrence by now. She was also very intelligent, and had even learned to speed dial Gold's shop, and called him every minute asking when he was coming home until Saylah had to hide the phone!

"All right. Now remember, you promised, dearie," he reminded her, and then he picked her up and limped out to his Cadillac, putting her in her car seat in the passenger seat beside him.

Luckily, the Storybrooke supermarket was only seven minutes from his house on Threadneedle Way, and Gold got there just as someone was pulling out of a prime parking spot near the front of the store. He took it and after getting Alina out, put her in the front of the shopping cart, leaning on it, with his cane in the basket.

"Look, Papa! 'nanas!" Alina pointed to a display of Chiquita bananas in the beginning of the produce section.

"Would you like some?"

She nodded. Bananas was one of her favorite foods.

Gold pushed the cart over and put some in. Then he grabbed some grapes and apples also.

Several people going by smiled at Alina, who was a lovely child with her dark auburn curls and cherub cheeks, dressed in a cute pink knit top and white tights with purple and blue legwarmers and her Velcro pink sneakers. She waved at people and said "Hi!" to a few of the ladies who stopped by her cart.

"She's a heartbreaker, Mr. Gold!" Ruby chuckled as she went to get some fruit.

"Thanks," the lawyer said, he always enjoyed when people complimented him on his little girl. "I'm going to have beat the boys off with my cane when she's old enough to know what they are."

Ruby laughed. "I've no doubt of it." Then she turned and walked off.

Gold continued pushing the cart through the produce section, checking off items with his gold ballpoint pen on his list. "Mushrooms, scallions, peppers . . .what's Saylah making tonight, stir fry?" he mused.

Bored with staying in the cart, Alina reached out and grabbed his sleeve. "Papa, down!" she cried. "Wanna walk!"

Gold was uneasy. He didn't like Alina walking next to him in such a crowded place, he was hyper-overprotective of the child. "No, dearie," he remonstrated. "You need to stay in the cart."

The child's expressive face, so like her papa's, immediately assumed a woebegone look. "Walk, Papa! Pweeaase?" she begged, giving him the biggest set of puppydog eyes he'd ever seen.

Gold looked away, feeling his heartstrings tugged on unmercifully. No one would ever guess that the cutthroat attorney, the hardnosed cold-hearted businessman who made deals nobody would dare break with him, melted like a bowl of ice cream in the sun when his baby girl gave him _that_ look.

"Ahh . . . wait just a little bit, okay?" he bargained.

But Alina could be mule stubborn when she wanted something, getting that from both parents. Her little mouth crinkled and she sobbed, "Now, Papa!"

Gold knew he should remain firm and stick to his guns. He'd never caved on any deal he'd ever made with a customer who walked in his pawnshop. No sob story from a client had ever moved him to change his policy of cash or an item of equal or greater value. But the sight of those big eyes filled with tears made him crumble like wet sand along the sea shore. Plus, he was sure everyone in the supermarket was giving him looks behind his back and shaking their head and muttering behind their hands about Gold the cruel papa who made his little girl cry.

He pushed the cart beside the display of string beans and said, "Fine, Alina. You can get down and walk, but you hold onto my hand, dearie. You hear?" He lifted her from the cart and she grasped his large hand in her tiny one, clinging like a barnacle.

He limped two steps holding onto the lip of the display, and glanced down at his little princess, who was giving him a sunny smile now that she was allowed to walk next to him, her small steps perfectly matched to his lame ones. "Okay, baby?" he asked tenderly.

"I walk by you!" she declared, pressing against his leg.

Satisfied with the deal he'd struck, Gold peered at his list again. "3/4 lb of string beans," he muttered, and began to scoop some into a plastic bag, careful to pick ones that were not brown or broken, as he, like his housekeeper, was very particular about his produce.

Alina was, at first, content to stay holding her papa's hand. But the two-year-old spotted a perfect hiding spot beneath some potatoes and onions. And someone had dropped a blue piece of paper on the floor.

Curious, the child released Gold's hand and toddled right for the paper, crawling beneath the stand a moment later.

Gold placed the beans in the cart and then went to get some lettuce and cucumbers also, since they were right next to them. As he straightened, he said to his daughter, "Alina, how about we get some cereal next? You want Cheerios or Golden Grahams?"

He waited for her little voice to pipe up with an answer. She was not shy about making her wants known. When he didn't hear her, he glanced down at his left hand.

And saw, to his horror, that Alina was gone!

He staggered back against the display, his heart slamming in his chest. _Oh my God! Where is she?_ He looked under the display of green beans and cucumbers, carrots, and lettuce. No Alina. He looked beside the cart, hoping to see her peeking out from the other side.

"Alina!" he called softly. "Dearie, come over here. Stop driving me crazy!"

But as he looked up and down the produce aisle, he saw no little imp anywhere, only a few elderly women and a man with a twelve year old boy who looked bored.

Biting his lip hard, Gold tossed his cane in the cart and began to push it up and down the aisles of vegetables and fruit, the salad bar, and premade salad dressings. "Alina!" he called. He peered as well as he could under the displays, but his lame leg wouldn't let him get on the floor like he needed to, and he didn't dare risk getting on the ground and not being able to stand up again, like that old lady in the commercial who'd fallen and couldn't get up.

No Alina.

Meanwhile, Alina had crawled from beneath the potatoes to beneath the strawberries, but finding that place a little too dark, went for a display of pears instead, where she could see the feet of people passing by. She looked for her papa's shoes . . . she could always recognize them by their black leather, as they were the only man's shoes in her house, and he was wearing dark blue socks that day to match his blue shirt.

She was a bit nervous, for this place was strange and loud and she hoped her papa would find her soon, the way he usually did when she hid behind the furniture and the drapes at home.

Gold was now on the verge of having a full-blown anxiety attack. He couldn't see Alina anywhere and when he'd asked some people if they'd seen a little girl wearing a pink shirt and purple and blue legwarmers, they'd given him funny looks and quickly walked off. He was now imagining that someone had snatched his precious daughter and stolen her away, despite the fact that this was sleepy Storybrooke, where almost nothing ever happened, rather than Boston or some other bustling city or suburb.

His heart was pounding in terror and he halted the cart beside a young man unloading a palette full of lettuces and cried, "Sir, could you help me for a moment? My little girl has gone missing."

The boy jerked up in shock to find Storybrooke's notorious businessman addressing him. "Mr. Gold? What'd you say?"

"I said . . .my daughter has gone missing," he reiterated, trying hard to remain calm and not take the idiot by the collar and scream in his face. "She's two years old, and she was beside me just five minutes ago and now she's gone!"

"Uh . . . okay . . . err . . lemme get my manager," the boy babbled, and picked up his walkie talkie and spoke into it.

Gold fought the urge to slam his cane into the display of asparagus nearby in frustration. He had visions dancing in his head of Alina screaming and being shoved in an unmarked car and the kidnappers driving away while she howled for him.

His hand tightened in white knuckled fear upon his cane, though outwardly he hoped he looked calm. It wouldn't do to become a raging lunatic in front of these people.

_Breathe. Just breathe,_ he counseled himself. _In and out . . . one . . . two . . . three . . . four . . .where the hell is the damn manager? Out taking a cigarette break? I swear, I'm going to sue the ass off whoever is supposed to be on duty . . ._

Moments later a tall beanpole of a manger dressed in a white collared shirt and black slacks came hurrying down the aisle. "Mr. Gold, my name is Jerry, how can I help you?"

"Jerry, I have a big problem. My little girl, Alina Rose, has gone missing."

"Oh no! When did this happen? What was she wearing?" Jerry asked quickly, trying to recall the procedures for a missing child in his head.

"Uh . . ." Gold checked his watch. "About seven minutes ago. I've looked up and down the aisles . . .but she's not over here!"

"I'm sure we'll find her, sir. Can I have a description of what she was wearing? Especially her shoes."

Gold gave him the pertinent information, and then Jerry paged an alert over the PA system that all employees were to go and monitor all the exits and entrances to the store and check the bathrooms and search for a two year old girl with Alina's description.

"Okay, sir, now we'll do a thorough search here," Jerry said, and was joined by Zack, the assistant manager in produce. "Zack, you take the west end and Mr. Gold and I will look over here."

"Okay, boss," Zack replied, and began looking and asking people shopping if they had seen a little girl wandering around.

"Could she have wandered out of the department, Mr. Gold?" Jerry asked as they looked underneath the displays.

"I . . . I don't know . . . she's . . . she's very curious . . . it's possible . .. " he stammered, trying to be coherent. "She likes . . . to play hide and seek . . ."

Now he was wondering why the hell he hadn't just stood his ground and insisted she remain in the cart? Why did he ever let her out? _Stupid!_ he raged. _You dumb asshole! Now look what's happened! _

"I'm sure we'll find her," Jerry soothed, continuing to search beneath the various displays. "My little nephew's always wandering off like this, my sister threatened to put him on a leash."

"Maybe next time I'll tie her to me," Gold muttered. Then he began to do something he couldn't ever recall doing before.

He began to pray.

His cane hit a rough spot beside a display of Anjou pears and he stumbled. As he went to grab the side of the display, his cane dropped.

"Dammit!" he swore softly and bent to get it.

As he did so he heard a familiar voice scold, "Oooh! Papa! You said a bad word!"

He almost collapsed on the floor. "_Alina!_"

There she was, beneath the display of pears . . . all the way in the back corner, with her knees drawn into her chest.

"You found me!" she sang.

Now on his knees, Gold was torn between weeping in relief and screaming with anger. "Alina Rose! What on earth were ye doin', young lady?" he gasped, his voice tinged with more than his usual hint of his Scottish accent.

She stared up at him, alarmed by the edge in his tone. "Playin'! Hide n' seek!"

Gold nearly banged his head into the floor. "C'mere! Right now! Ye scared the living daylights outta me!"

The little girl crawled over to him and jumped into his arms.

As her little arms wound about his neck, Gold felt his heart return to normal. He hugged his child to him, sitting on the floor, relief crashing through him in waves, unmindful of the dirt he was collecting on his $1500 Armani suit. _Safe . . . she's safe . . .she's not taken away . . . not like that other little girl on the news . . ._He pressed his face into her curls, breathing in the scent of her strawberry shampoo. _Thank you God! Thank you!_ He was sure that in addition to raising his blood pressure, he had just developed more gray hairs.

"Mr. Gold! You found her!" Jerry exclaimed. "Oh, thank goodness!" He went and made another announcement over the PA system, asking the employees to stand down, that the child was found. "Do you need help?" He offered a hand.

"I . . . uh . . ." Gold reddened, unwilling to admit that particular truth, but also unwilling to let Alina go.

Jerry waited, not leaving, for he didn't want to leave the older man on the floor like a dropped pear.

Gold shifted Alina in his grip, then allowed himself, just this once, to accept the hand offered and managed to get to his feet without looking like an idiot.

"Here, sir," Jerry handed him his cane. "Would you like me to take your cart to customer service so you can pay for your items, Mr. Gold?"

"Please," Gold said gratefully. "And . . . thank you for your diligence and help, Jerry. I'll be putting in a recommendation for you for a raise and a promotion."

Jerry almost passed out. "Uh . . . thanks, but . . . it was my pleasure . . . Uh . . let me get your cart . . ."

As Jerry went to retrieve Gold's cart, the pawnbroker turned to his daughter and said in a very soft and controlled voice, "Alina Rose, you are in serious trouble when we get home. You broke your promise to me, young lady and I almost died when I couldn't find you!" he scolded.

Alina began sniffling into his jacket. "M'sorry!"

Gold felt his heart twinge sharply, but he resolutely hardened it. Now was not the time to be soft.

After paying for his groceries, the attorney drove home, and after asking Saylah to bring the bags in, explaining that there had been a little "incident" at the market which he would tell her about later, Gold carried his intrepid child upstairs and into his study.

Now that he'd had a chance to calm down, he found he was angry . . .more than he had ever been before at his daughter. He began to count to ten in his head, calming himself down, because he would not punish his child in anger . . . not as he had been punished by his drunken father.

He sat down in his desk chair with Alina on his lap, wishing he didn't have to do this, but he knew that he must teach his child to never ever wander away like that again.

Alina stared up at him, her lower lip trembling. "Papa mad?"

"Yes," he answered honestly. "I'm very disappointed in you, little girl. You promised me you'd stay by me and you broke our deal. You scared me to death, Alina Rose! I thought you'd been taken away and I'd never see you again."

"Sorry, Papa!"

He clenched his jaw. "Good, you should be. You must never _ever_ do this again, understand? And this will make sure you remember."

Then he turned her over his knee and gave her two firm swats. He felt like crying himself afterwards, even though he knew it had been necessary. He hugged his little girl to him and rubbed her back as she sobbed remorsefully into his shoulder. _I had to, dearie. I can't go through that again. But this hurts me more than it does you, I'd wager._

"Ssshh," he crooned. "Please don't make me do that again, Alina."

"'Kay . . ."

He gently wiped her face with his handkerchief and kissed her cheek. "I love you, sweetheart."

"Love you, Papa," his little minx said, and snuggled up to him.

The phone rang.

"Mr. G, phone's for you!" called Saylah.

"Tell them I'm unavailable right now," he called back. Whatever business deal it was could wait. This was his private time with his daughter. And nothing was going to interfere with it.

They both had learned something today, he mused as he settled back into his chair, and it was a lesson neither of them would ever forget.

**Page~*~*~*~*~Break**

"And that was the last time you ever played hide and seek again unless we did it together at home. And I stopped spending so much time at the shop and more time at home with you, because I realized the most important thing was my family. So, you see, I had as many gray hairs from you, dearie, as I did your brother," Rumple said, smiling at Alina.

"I don't really remember that all that much," she admitted. "Was that the first time you . . err . . . spanked me?"

"I wore out my hand on you both, dearie," he teased.

"Papa, you're exaggerating!" Alina cried. "We weren't that bad."

"I'd say Regina will drive you nuts sooner than I ever did," Bae predicted.

"You could be right," his father chuckled. "She certainly tests me more than you ever did at that age."

Just then there came a knock at the door and Henry came in along with Emma. "Hey, Dad! We're here for the barbecue!"

"Hey, tiger," Bae grinned.

"Henry, you're just in time for our Father's Day gift," Alina said excitedly to her nephew.

"Listening to stories about you and my dad's childhood?" Henry smirked. "Well, I practically know all about yours, since I was over here for most of it." He went and hugged his grandfather. "Happy Father's Day, Grandpa!"

"Thank you, Henry. Would you like to listen too?" asked Rumple, his eyes twinkling.

"Sure! But I want to make a request," his grandson said, and then went to hug Belle.

"Oh? What's that?" his grandfather asked.

"Uh . . . I wanna hear about the time Dad lit that fire," Henry answered.

"What?" Bae protested. "Henry, you already know about that! I've told you that story."

"Yeah, in about two sentences," his son objected. "But I wanna hear it the way Grandpa tells it."

"Yeah, Bae," Emma teased, waddling into the den to hug and kiss her in-laws and the twins. "Nobody tells a story like Rumple."

"Oh, come on!" Bae groaned. "Papa, don't listen to them . . . this is your day, you can choose . . ."

"That's right, Bae. It's my choice, dearie," Rumple said softly. Then he paused to consider his next tale.

**A/N: so who wants Rumple to tell the story of Bae and the forest fire now?**


	3. Firestarter

**3**

**Firestarter**

"You know . . .that might be a good story to tell," the Gold patriarch mused. "As a cautionary tale."

"Oh great!" Bae said grumpily. "Now I'm an example of what not to do!"

Rumple raised an eyebrow, resembling Mr. Spock rather eerily. "Baelfire, we're all of us examples of what not to do in our lifetimes. Starting with myself," he jerked his thumb at his chest.

"Yeah, okay," his son said, mollified. Then he tickled his baby brother, making Dylan squeal and reach for Bae's nose. "Hey! Your hands are lethal weapons," Bae laughed. "Cause you need your nails clipped. You're so grabby." He gently directed the baby's hand away from his face and Dylan promptly grabbed his hair. "Oww! Okay, you have the Deadly Hair Grip down cold, kid." He untangled his brother's hand from his head and let the baby pat the sofa, jouncing him on his knee.

Dylan made cooing noises, then suddenly let out a loud burp.

"Good job, buddy!" Bae laughed, then he grimaced. "Ahh . .. and you just spit up all over me."

"Rumple, you should have given him a burpee," Belle sighed, going to help Bae.

"It's okay, Mama," her son said as she wiped up the mess on her son and himself. "I need to get used to this, since I'm sure my own is going to puke on me left and right after it's born."

"Mom, why haven't you and Dad found out what the baby is?" Henry asked his mother.

"Because we want to be surprised," she replied. "I knew I was having a boy with you, I had to because of the adoption, but I want to be surprised here, so. . . I asked Dr. Jo not to tell me."

"And we've got a few names picked out of each kind," Bae said, now letting his baby brother jump on his knee with a cloth draped over his shoulder. "You're a little jack-in-the-box," he said to Dylan.

The baby gave him a grin and continued jumping.

"Better than being a firestarter," Alina teased, then took her hair out of Daria's mouth.

Daria gave an angry howl.

"Oh, be quiet!" Bae ordered.

"Hey, you can't eat my hair!" Alina said, wincing at her little sister's wails. "Here, Banshee Girl, play with this." She gave Daria the soft butterfly puppet.

As the little imp stuffed it into her mouth, Rumple said, "Okay, shall I begin?"

"Yeah, please do!" Henry encouraged.

"Now this tale takes place around four years after my first one when Bae played with my thread," the master spinner said. "It was right after he'd healed from breaking his arm falling out of a tree, and I was busy spinning extra thread for the annual spring festival, so I wasn't as watchful as I normally was . . ."

**Page~*~*~*~*~Break**

_The Enchanted Forest_

_Rumplestiltskin's village:_

"Papa, can I go play?" asked eight-year-old Bae, watching his father spinning.

"Huh?" Rumple was spinning like a dust devil from Agrabah, trying to finish his extra quota for the spring festival before next week. "Yes . . . just come back in time for supper. Who are you playing with? Morraine?"

"No . . . she's sick with a cold and has to stay in bed. But Justin says he'll play with me," Bae said, naming another little boy his age. "He wants to play explorer."

"Mmm . . .mind you stay near the village, Baelfire," Rumple cautioned. "You know with the draught more large wild beasts have been seen here. I don't need to stitch you up after being bitten by a wolf, or a wild cat, or a boar."

"Yes, Papa. We weren't gonna go far. Just a little ways into the woods, by the game trail," Bae told him, which was a small trail the hunters used to track game, like deer and other vegetable-eating animals.

"All right. I'll see you later." Rumple waved him off, concentrating on his newly dyed red thread, which he was thinking about calling Firelight because of the hints of orange in it.

Bae skipped out of the cottage, and soon found Justin, who lived a few houses down, and like him, enjoyed playing explorer and knight. The two boys fashioned swords out of sticks and used their cloaks as packs and put rocks inside them for adventurers bundles and slung them over their shoulders.

"C'mon, Bae! Let's go into the Dark Forest!" Jusitn said. He was a small boy with brown eyes and blond hair that stuck up in a cowlick. Like Bae, he was dressed in the typical brown cloth leggings, a cream-colored shirt, and a dark brown tunic with laces over it.

Both boys ran into the woods and down the game trail a little ways. Dead leaves and grass crunched under their boots, as the drought had struck them hard this spring, with almost no rain, and temperatures were soaring, more like the heart of summer than spring. Their elders said they hadn't seen a draught like this in forty years, but Bae and his friend didn't really mind the heat, liking the warmth as it enabled them to play outside longer. And the heat withered a lot of the villager's crops and gardens, which meant less chores outside, like weeding, so that was good too, according to the boys.

They went down the game trail a ways, careful to not go too far, since neither wanted to get lost or risk being mauled by some wild animal. Bae paused to tie his boot lace, and his foot struck something buried in the leaf litter.

"Huh? What's that?" he asked, and dug through the detritus, to find a battered tarnished copper lamp. "Justin, look at this!" He held up his unusual find.

"Cool! A genie lamp! Like the one in Ali Baba!" Justin grinned. Both of them had heard that story dozens of times, both from the local storyteller, an old man named Stavros, and from Rumple.

"Yeah, I wonder if we should rub it?" Bae mused.

"Do it! We can get wishes if there's a genie inside!" Justin encouraged.

So Bae rubbed the lamp, first with his hand and then with his tunic sleeve.

The boys waited eagerly for smoke to come out and the genie to appear.

But nothing happened.

The lamp remained a lamp.

"Aww! Maybe it's broken!" Justin moaned.

"Maybe I gotta rub harder," Bae said, and did so.

But nothing happened.

Frsutrated, Bae turned the lamp upside down and shook it. It was then he saw some writing on the base.

"Hmm . . ." He rubbed at the dirt and it came off, revealing words.

"What's that say?" asked his friend. Like most of the rustic villagers, Justin couldn't read much beyond his name.

Bae, however, had been taught to read and write by Rumple, who had learned from the two ladies who had raised him, as one was a former schoolmistress. He squinted and read, "It says—_light me_."

"Light me?" Justin repeated. "Ya mean, we gotta shine a light on it?"

"No . . . we have to light a fire," Bae explained. Sometimes Justin could be a little dense.

"A fire? But Bae, we're not allowed to do that!"

Bae bit his lip. He knew that. Any child younger than nine knew it was forbidden to play with fire, or make a fire unless given permission or watched over by an adult. Fire was bad. You could get burned or burn something with it.

"Uh . . . but . . . if we don't light the lamp . . . then the genie won't come out," he said.

"Oh. Okay. But where we gonna get some fire?"

Bae thought for a moment. "Uh . . . my papa has a stove with coals in it. It's usually banked till nightfall, when he cooks on it. I could get some from there."

"Neat!"

Bae shoved the lamp into Justin's hands. "Here. You hold the lamp and I'll go home and get the coal."

"Hurry! I wanna see the genie and make three wishes!"

Bae ran home as quickly as he could. Luckily, Rumple was not in the cottage when he slipped back in, having gone outside to get another basket of wool fluff from the shed where they kept bales of it and the goat they combed it from.

Bae quickly picked up a metal shovel and scooped a coal out of the stove. It was still very warm and deep inside he could see the flicker of red, indicating embers were alive.

He ran back to where Justin waited with the lamp.

"Didja get it?"

"Yeah. Now let's light it," Bae said eagerly.

He scraped together some dry leaves, twigs, and other dry stuff. Then he set the coal along them. He blew on it the way he'd seen Rumple do to get the coals to come alive on the stove.

The coal started to turn orange, and Bae shoved some more dry leaves on it.

Soon smoke curled up and then the dry leaves caught fire.

"It's working!" cried his friend.

When the fire was blazing merrily, Bae grabbed the lamp and thrust it into the flames.

"Come on, genie!" he called. "We lit the lamp, now where are you?"

The boys waited for several long minutes for something to happen.

But the only thing that happened was the fire, which had started out a small blaze no bigger than a campfire, began to devour all the dry grass and leaves around it . . . becoming larger and larger.

Soon medium sized tongues of flame were scorching the ground.

"Uh oh!" Justin yelled. "Bae, we're in trouble! The forest's on fire!"

Bae stared in dismay. He couldn't believe this little fire had become a raging beast—like a dragon!

"Uh . . . we'd better get help!" he coughed as smoke surrounded him.

Justin bolted back down the trail, screaming, "Help! Help! Bae, set the forest on fire! HELP!"

"Thanks a lot!" Bae muttered, thinking that Justin hadn't exactly been blameless.

**Page~*~*~*~*~Break**

Rumple had been coming back into the cottage with a basket full of wool fluff when he heard the alarm bell begin ringing in the village square. Normally that bell was never rung unless the village was under attack by ogres or some other disaster had occurred-like a fire.

He dropped the basket beside his wheel and grabbed his walking stick and limped outside. Bae was somewhere around and he wanted to know his son was safe. And also what the hell was going on.

He saw his friends and neighbors gathered about, grabbing buckets and filling them hastily from the village well.

"What's going on?"

"There's a fire spreading fast, Rumple!" panted the baker.

"Yeah and according to Justin, your kid started it!" snapped another.

"Bae? Bae started a _fire_?" Rumple was shocked. "How? He knows better!" Surely there must have been a mistake.

"Who cares? We'd better put it out—quick!" cried Sarah the dairy maid. She handed Rumple a bucket filled with water.

The fire was raging now, leaping from tree to tree and racing along the ground, since it was so dry.

Not only the woods but some nearby houses and warehouses caught fire and Rumple and the villagers were kept busy battling the blaze.

Some of the children were trying to help, pouring water from their teasets and water skins on the small tongues of flame and singing "Roasty toasty marshmallows!" until a few adults shooed them away.

Bae crept out of the woods and just stared at the destruction and the fire still devouring half the village. He put a hand to his mouth, horrified. He hadn't meant to do this—all he'd wanted to do was summon a genie.

He went to help pass buckets down the line and try and put out the blaze, his stomach sick within him.

Finally the fire was stamped out, both by water and the use of blankets suggested by Rumple and the other weavers to smother the flames. Most of the woods surrounding the village was gone, and so were a lot of the older houses nearby and a few of the buildings, like an empty warehouse and some outhouses and one of the tanneries.

As Bae set the bucket he was holding down, Justin spotted him and pointed, "He done it! He was playin' with fire! I saw it!"

Bae was furious. "You helped! You wanted me to light the lamp as much as you did, Justin, you tattletale!"

All of the villagers turned disappointed angry stares on the two boys.

Justin's mother came and dragged him off by the ear, apologizing as she did so.

Rumple limped up to Bae, wearing his disappointed and mad Look. "Baelfire, is that true? Did you really start this catastrophe?"

"Papa—it was an accident! I didn't mean to!" his son babbled. "We were trying to make a genie come out of a lamp and it said "Light me" so I did. I didn't know the woods would catch on fire!"

Rumple hit himself in the forehead. "Bae, you know better! How many times have I told you—never ever play with fire?"

"I know but . . ." his son looked at the ground, coughing a little because of the smoke lingering in the air.

"Then you also know you're in serious trouble, young man!" his father scolded. He pointed down the street towards their cottage. "Go home and wait for me in the house."

"Yes, sir," the boy muttered. "I'm really sorry!"

"Sorry doesn't fix the damage you've caused!" cried a villager.

Bae turned and ran, away from the stares and accusing comments, back to his home, where he waited in the single room before Rumple's wheel for his papa to return. He knew he was in the worst trouble of his life and he wished he'd never seen that lamp at all.

Meanwhile, Rumple took some time to apologize to everyone who had lost a home or something in the fire, feeling terribly guilty about the fact that his son—he still couldn't believe Bae had actually done something so foolish and irresponsible—had nearly burned down the village! He was relieved to note that most of the people didn't blame him and said that they would rebuild and to just go home and impress upon his son the stupidity of playing with fire.

"Oh, I intend to," the lame spinner said, his jaw clenching.

Then he limped back to the cottage, disappointed and angry, more so than he'd ever been in his life, at his only child.

But when Rumple reached the cottage, he found that he was too angry to risk going inside to punish his son at the moment. Because of the nature of the offense, Rumple realized he would have to do something he loathed—he would have to spank his child. Because of his own childhood at the hands of his drunken father, who had run off when he was five to avoid being drafted into the army, but before then had often beaten his son, Rumple was very reluctant to use physical correction on Baelfire.

But he knew that one or two swats and some time in the corner or doing chores wasn't going to impress upon his son the necessary lesson, since that was how he normally punished the boy. But something like this—called for a more strict and drastic approach.

But Rumple hated the mere thought of doing so, and found he had to nerve himself up to it—even though it was deserved and he wasn't going to use anything save his hand on the boy.

He paced outside with his staff for a full ten minutes before finally strengthening his resolve enough to go inside.

When Bae saw his papa, he started sniffling, despite his resolve to not cry like a baby and take his punishment like a man. From Rumple's Look and use of the phrase, "you're in serious trouble" he knew what he was going to get.

"M'sorry!"

"I know," Rumple replied. "But you know better than to play with fire. I've taught you that rule your whole life. And what you did—son, you could have cost lives, and you did cost some people their homes, and Master Brent one of his tannery buildings. And also you harmed the forest and animals around here. All because of what—a silly game you were playing?"

Bae swallowed hard. His shoulders drooped.

Rumple shook his head again, and then pulled one of the chairs from the kitchen table out into the middle of the floor. He sat in it and then looked expectantly at his son. "Baelfire, come here."

Dragging his feet, Bae came.

Without preamble, Rumple took his disobedient son across his knee. Clenching his jaw, he said, "You know why you're getting this, so I'm not going to lecture you, but I am going to tell you this better never happen again."

"No, sir," his son whimpered.

Rumple gave Bae the worst spanking of his life—ten sharp smacks to his bottom and thighs, lighting a fire on his son's behind that nearly equaled the one he'd started in the forest. He gritted his teeth all the time he was administering the punishment, trying hard to just get it over with, cringing inside whenever Bae yelped. He given the boy swats before as a toddler, but never a spanking like this, and it hurt him worse than his son.

Bae kicked and bawled, though at first he'd been resolved to take his punishment silently, like a brave knight. But he was only a little boy, and already guilt ridden and ashamed of himself for doing what he'd done and ashamed he'd made Rumple, whom he knew disliked doing this, give him such a sound spanking. Plus, his papa wasn't giving him any love taps either, the smacks, while not brutal, _hurt._ Soon his backside felt like it was on fire.

After ten smacks, Rumple's hand stung and he determined it was enough. "Okay, dearie, it's over," he murmured over the boy's sobs. "Now don't ever make me do this again."

Mindful of his son's sore behind, he cuddled him against his shoulder, rubbing his back soothingly.

They stayed like that a long time, till Bae's sobs died down to sniffles.

"Bae, what were you thinking?" Rumple queried.

"Umm . . .that . . . I wanted to summon a genie like in all the stories you read to me," he said, rubbing his behind. "And when the lamp didn't work like in the stories, I read on the bottom, and it said to light me, so I . . .err . . . took a coal from our stove and I made a fire."

Rumple sighed. "And it never occurred to you that with the draught the woods were already dry and would go up like that when you started that fire?" He snapped his fingers.

"I didn't think about that," he admitted softly. "I just wanted to . . .impress Justin. I never meant to . . . burn down the village or the woods."

"I know, son. But that's what happened. And I hope you've learned your lesson. I've asked the people whose homes were lost when they were going to rebuild them, they said they'd let me know . . . and I want you to go and help them also."

"I will," Bae said. "I'm sorry I made you ashamed of me."

"Son, I'm not ashamed of you, just what you did today. And since you've promised to never do it again—I forgive you." Rumple said and then he hugged Bae again. "Boy, if you keep this up, I'm going to have more gray hairs before I'm thirty than old Jonas does at sixty-five. Now go set the table for supper. Because I'm starving!"

"Me too. What are we having?"

"Uh . . .I was going to make a roast chicken but given what's happened today, I don't feel much like using the stove. So we'll have cheese sandwiches and pickles and some beet salad," Rumple said quickly. "And some cinnamon twists for dessert."

"You're letting me have dessert?"

"Maybe I shouldn't but . . .I've already spanked the daylights out of you, so . . . I think that plus eating your supper standing up is enough of a punishment," his father replied.

Bae gave him a rueful smile and then went to get the dishes, vowing once again to never ever play with fire . . . no matter what he found in the forest.

**Page~*~*~*~Break**

"And there's the tale of Bae and the magic lamp that wasn't," Rumple finished. "I hope you've learned something by listening to this, Henry."

"Yeah, because for some reason half the men in this family are firestarters," Alina remarked.

"We're not pyros, Alina," Henry said. "We just . . . happen to start fires."

"By being dumb," Bae acknowledged. "And I don't know what's worse."

"Well, the important thing is you don't repeat the same mistake twice," Belle said.

"Yeah, because otherwise we wouldn't have had a village," Bae sighed ruefully. Then he looked at his father. "Now why don't we talk about something else . . . like maybe a story about my little sister here and how she drove you crazy when you lived at the Dark Castle."

Rumple chuckled. "She was a baby then, Bae."

"Yeah, so how much trouble could I have been?" Alina asked.

"Oh, you were trouble, all right, minx," her father smirked. "Just trouble of a different kind."

"I wanna hear this!" Henry said. "It's one story I wasn't here for!"

"Me too," said Belle. "I missed out on your baby years, so I want to hear too."

"Maybe after I'm done, dearie, you'll be glad you did," Rumple said, and then he began his next tale.


	4. A Beast's Legacy

**4**

**A Beast's Legacy**

"This story takes place when Alice and I were in the Dark Castle, months before the Dark Curse was cast in the outside world," Rumple began. "And I was still grieving because I believed you were dead, Belle . . .but I had a baby to take care of, so I couldn't indulge myself too long. Now, for the most part, you were a pretty happy baby, Alina . . .except one time, you were crawling and teething at the same time. It was a nightmare . . ."

**Page~*~*~*~Break**

_The Dark Castle:_

A baby's screaming echoed through the venerable halls and rooms of the ancient pile of rock called by its predecessors the Dark Castle. Rumple was sure that if the walls could talk they would tell spine tingling tales of screams uttered by victims and so forth, but these screams were not from any desperate souls, but his six month old daughter, Alina Rose, who was cutting a molar and running a fever and screaming from the pain.

A desperate Rumple had tried healing the baby, but the child's innate magic had roused and refused to allow it, because of his cursed state. He'd gone to Alice and asked what remedies she knew for a teething child, he couldn't recall Bae ever having this sort of trouble with his teeth. He'd been fussy and cranky, but nothing like _this_!

"D'you know what I should do?" he asked, jiggling the sobbing baby on his shoulder.

Alina whimpered and drooled and gnawed her hand, then shrieked in his ear when it brought no relief.

"It's all right, dearie. Papa will make it better," he crooned, feeling awful that he was unable to make her stop hurting. She had started running a fever this morning and had been cranky and crying all day. He'd managed to give her some goat's milk and gently bathed her with a yarrow wash to bring down the fever, but her constant sobbing had upset her stomach and she'd thrown up every time he'd tried to give her a bottle since this morning. She wouldn't touch the cereal he'd tried to give her, or even the mashed bananas she usually loved.

"Have you tried whiskey?" asked Alice, wincing at the child's banshee wails.

"Um . . . no. I don't drink much."

"I remember my ma telling me it was good for babies that were cutting teeth," Alice recalled.

"You get them drunk?" Rumple objected. He patted Alina on the back.

"Nah. You rub it on their gums."

"Oh. Umm . . . okay . . .I'll try anything." He summoned a bottle of whiskey with a wave of his hand and then said, "Alice, hold her while I . . .err . . .try to rub this on her."

'C'mere, babydoll," Alice crooned, and took her godchild.

Alina's cherub face was wet and red from crying, her little reddish brown curls plastered to her forehead and the front of her little smock was soaked with drool. She stuck her fist in her mouth, whimpering.

Rumple poured a measure of whiskey into a snifter and then dipped his finger into it. "Okay, sweetling, open up for me," he coaxed, and then gently removed her fist from her mouth.

Alina scrunched up her nose and screamed furiously.

"Shhh . . ." Rumple said, and put his whiskey dripping finger into his child's mouth, trying to rub it on the gums in the back where the tooth was coming in.

An instant later another scream was heard as the Dark One's daughter bit the imp's finger.

"Dammit to hell!" roared Rumple. "That _hurt_!" He yanked his finger out of the baby's mouth and shook it.

"Rumplestiltskin! You watch your mouth around this poor child!" Alice scolded.

The Dark One winced and said, "Alice, dearie, she can't even talk yet."

"Well, when she does start, if you're not careful what you say, the first word she says won't be Papa, it'll be dammit," Alice frowned. "Are you all right?"

Rumple examined his finger. "Yes. She didn't break the skin."

He looked at his offspring, who seemed to be relaxing more and screaming less shrilly. "Hey, baby girl. Does that help?" He took Alina from Alice and cuddled her. "I think it's working!"

Alice smiled. "My ma was usually right."

Rumple went to sit down with his daughter in his rocking chair, gently stroking her hair and back while he pushed the rocker back and forth with his foot. He was so relieved that his baby was starting to feel better that he barely noticed the drool all over his red silk shirt and leather vest. His pants had speckles of porridge on them from when he'd attempted to feed her this morning, but he didn't care.

Alina closed her eyes, seemingly tired after her hours of screeching.

Rumple thanked the gods.

Five minutes later Alina woke up . . .screaming as fresh pain assaulted her.

Rumple swore a blue streak . . .in his head.

Then he conjured some ice and wrapped it in a towel and gave it to her, murmuring, "Here, baby. Look, bite the nice ice. See?"

Alina gummed the icy towel, and the howls stopped.

"Oh thank you gods!"

His head was starting to explode from all the screaming and he'd thought about giving her a potion to send her to sleep, but he was too scared he could hurt her. Babies' physiology was so delicate.

He winced as his daughter laid her head on his shoulder with the icy rag melting in dribbles all over him mixed with baby drool.

He was sure if anyone could see him now they would fall over laughing. Him, the notorious Dark One, getting spit and drooled on by a baby, his clothes a wreck, his hair all sticking up, and circles under his eyes from stress. Yes, they'd be laughing their asses off . . . if they didn't run away screaming first.

_Only you, Alina. Only for you._

He thought about doing a shot of whiskey now that the baby in his arms was finally quiet.

He looked at his daughter. She was chewing determinedly on the rag, her little cheeks bulging. Making soft sucking whimpering noises. He kissed her forehead. "My little rose. You look just like your mama. Well, except for your eyes. Those are mine."

He rocked back and forth and sang a lullaby to her until he saw her little eyelids grow heavy. As they closed he gave a little trilling giggle of triumph.

Then he continued rocking, making sure she was asleep.

As an added precaution, he summoned the bottle of whiskey to him again, and rubbed some more of the potent liquor on her gums. Maybe it hadn't been enough the first time?

Alina sighed in her sleep, her little lips smacking together.

Rather exhausted from such an eventful day, Rumple decided to sleep as well.

Alice came into the great room of the castle a moment later, after cleaning up the kitchen. She had put a pot of stew on for dinner and was going to ask Rumple if he wanted some when she caught sight of him in the rocker with the baby on his shoulder.

His hair flopped in his eyes, his shirt looked like it had been through the wars, and his mouth was half open and he was snoring softly.

Alice put her hand over her mouth.

_Aww, magician! You look so darned . . . cute!_

A giggle escaped her.

She bit her lip hard.

One of Rumple's curls had fallen over his face, and as he snored, it moved up and down, sort of like a fake mustache.

Another giggle escaped her mouth.

The more she stared at her sleeping employer, supposedly the most feared wizard in the realms, the more she couldn't help laughing. She buried her face in her dishtowel . . . laughing hysterically . . . and wishing she had something to preserve this moment . . . of the Dark One passed out with a baby who'd spit up all over him, like some golden-skinned house wife!

Alina woke up in the middle of the night, running a temperature, and crabby. Rumple had changed his clothes since then, and her as well, exchanging the soaked little smock for a clean one and a clean diaper.

"Okay, m'coming!" he muttered, and went to the cradle on the side of his wheel, which was where he had her sleep most nights, so he could spin during the night.

"C'mere, sweetheart," he cooed, and picked her up. "Ahh . . .you're hot again. And wet."

"Mmuhhmuhh!" she whimpered, her little mouth chomping up and down and one fist inserted in it.

"Yeah that nasty tooth hurts, doesn't it?" he sighed. "Bloody teeth!"

He summoned a shallow basin and gently stripped her and put her in the yarrow wash, putting her head on a large sea sponge. He hoped soaking in the strained yarrow tincture would bring her fever down again.

She splashed and whined at him and he made silly faces at her, trying to get her to smile. He summoned another icy rag and let her gnaw it while he made flourishes and giggled at her.

Finally she smiled and he clapped his hands. Then he took her out after twenty minutes and began to dry her on a large soft sheepskin, tickling her feet and singing another silly song as he played with her toes. "This little piggy went to market, this little piggy stayed home, this little piggy had roast beef, this little piggy had none, and this little piggy went wee wee wee—all the way home! Nyiihhiihehee!" and he giggled his patented giggle.

Alina giggled in return and the rag fell out of her mouth and she grabbed her papa's hair.

"Hey! What . . ." he yelped.

Her face came near his and for an instant he thought she might try and bite him . . . but instead she opened her mouth . . . and blew a raspberry at him!

"Mmmaaa!"

"Little minx!" he laughed, his amber eyes sparkling. "Papa loves you, Alina Rose!" Then he blew a raspberry on her tummy, making her squeal with glee.

After dressing her in a new little long nightgown with little knitted booties on her feet, he rubbed some more whiskey on her gums and gave her the icy cloth again.

Then he took a quick shot of the whiskey himself before sitting with her at his wheel, and holding her in one arm while he spun with the other, and the soft whirring of the straw spinning into gold put her into a deep sleep.

The Dark One smiled at his daughter and murmured, "You're a spinner's daughter, all right, Alina. Just like me, the wheel puts you in a trance, precious baby girl."

And the so the sorcerer spun deep into the night, unmindful of the baby asleep on his shoulder, for that was where she belonged, the living legacy of a beauty and her beast.

**Page~*~*~*~*~Break**

"Aww, you were cute, Alina!" Henry smirked.

She rolled her eyes. "So's every baby, Henry. And I'm so glad I don't remember that time."

"And I think it's time for us all to go and start cooking," Rumple said softly. "Because all of a sudden, I'm starving."

"Good, because I'm making burgers and chicken on the grill," Bae said, rising to his feet.

"Is that what we're having for dinner?" asked Jimmy, his younger brother, coming into the living room. He looked rather wan as he had been battling a nasty cold for a few days and the cold medicine knocked him for a loop.

"How are you feeling, kid?" asked Bae.

"Better."

"Think you can set the table for me?" Bae asked.

"Sure." He looked at the family sitting in the den. "What were you all doing?"

"Telling stories of Alina and me as kids for Father's Day," Bae answered.

"Aww! Crap, I missed it!" he groaned.

Rumple chuckled. "Sit down, Jimmy and I'll tell you them."

"And I want to hear them again. I missed some," Henry said.

"Alina, why don't you and I set the table?" Belle suggested, giving her son to Jimmy to hold and Alina gave Daria back to Rumple.

"Okay, Mama." She bounced to her feet and together mother, daughter, and brother went to fix dinner while Rumple began his stories again, sharing his wisdom and experiences as a father with his grandson and fosterling.

**The End**


End file.
